No Man’s Land
Spring 1887
I sure made a fine mess of things this time.” Rachel Donovan blinked away the tears stinging her eyes. She picked up a rock and hurled it halfway across the stream that lapped at the toes of her oversized boots. If not for her need to get out of Dodge so fast, they wouldn’t be stranded in the wilds of No Man’s Land, and her grandpa wouldn’t be injured. She wiped her face with the back of her hand then squatted by the smooth-running stream.
Her papa’s denim trousers felt stiff and unnatural against her legs. She longed for the familiar petticoats and the feel of soft cotton twisting about her legs. But she’d made a promise to Grandpa, and while traveling across No Man’s Land, where they might encounter outlaws or other unsavory types, she had no choice but to keep her word and pretend to be a boy.
Rachel glanced around, thankful none of the brigands had stumbled onto their campsite. She bowed her head. “Please, God, heal Grandpa’s injuries, and don’t let us run into any of those dangerous men. And help me find our horses today. Amen.”
It seemed her dream to live on a ranch would never come true, but here they were almost halfway between Dodge City and her uncle’s ranch in Amarillo. If only …
A sigh escaped. She dipped a battered tin cup into the creek. The cool liquid ministered to her dry lips and parched throat but did nothing for her sagging spirits.
Cupping a palm over her eyebrows, Rachel studied the serene landscape. A bright-red cardinal and its mate flittered in the fragrant honeysuckle bushes across the creek. Locusts and crickets dueled each other in song. After the revelry from the myriad saloons and gunfire in the Dodge City streets, the gentle voice of nature comforted her wounded spirit. If only she hadn’t created such a horrible mess.
The soothing creek rippled its way across the dry countryside, but peace and tranquility forked off to the left, while Rachel and her troubles turned right. With their horses gone and Grandpa injured, she wondered how they’d ever make it out of this dangerous territory.
Rachel drew in a deep breath. Self-pity wouldn’t put food in their bellies or find help for Grandpa. The good Lord helped those who helped themselves, so she’d best get busy. She dipped her cup for a final drink.
Snap!
Rachel’s heart jumped at the unnatural crack of a twig. She froze.
“Hold it right there, mister,” a deep voice boomed behind her. “This is Stafford land, and we don’t cotton much to squatters. Get your hands in the air where I can see them. And turn around. Slowly!”
Rachel leaped to her feet. The cup slipped from her grip and tumbled to the ground, clinking against the rocky creek bank. Turning, she tried futilely to stop her arms from trembling.
Her gaze took in the lone man, and then she scanned the nearby trees and brush. Hope soared a fraction before plummeting back to Earth. Did she have a chance, even against one man? She eyed the gun aimed at her chest and struggled to swallow the lump in her throat. How could I have let down my guard?
With his free hand, the cowboy pushed back his black Stetson. Strands of raven-colored hair slipped down, fanning a forehead tanned lighter than the rest of his bronze face. Dark-blue eyes, previously hidden under his hat’s broad brim, widened in surprise. “Why, you aren’t much more than a kid! I’ve been watching you for some time.” He waved toward the steep bluff behind him. “I know you’re alone. Care to explain what you’re doing way out here by yourself, boy?”
He watched me? For how long? Rachel’s pulse raced faster than the mustangs she’d seen a few days ago on the open prairie. Good thing I decided not to bathe this morning.
Ever so slowly, she exhaled. Lord, thank You that he didn’t see through my disguise. She peeked toward the bluff overlooking her campsite where the cowboy had pointed. Obviously, he hadn’t spied her grandpa resting in the shadows.
The unwelcomed masquerade worked again. This wasn’t the first time since they’d left Dodge City she’d been mistaken for a teenage boy. Her papa’s old clothes swallowed her, even though he’d been a small man, and she tried to ignore the tight fabric around her chest, binding her feminine attributes. The hardest part of the facade had been cutting her long, wavy tresses. A thin piece of leather held back her shoulder-length hair, and an old floppy felt hat added to the illusion.
Rachel studied the stranger, praying desperately. The man didn’t have the look of a hardened outlaw, but she well knew looks could be deceiving. “Can I p–put my hands down?”
“I reckon it wouldn’t hurt. I’d be the laughingstock of my family if I couldn’t whip a kid your size.” Amusement flickered in the eyes that met hers, and his lips curled into a broad grin.
The man took a good look around. Seeming satisfied she posed no danger, he holstered the gun and casually crossed his long arms over his wide chest. The confidence oozing from him did nothing to calm Rachel’s pounding heart. She thought again about him watching her, and the hard, dried biscuit she’d had for breakfast churned in her stomach.
“Well?” he prompted.
“Well, what?” She lifted her chin to meet his gaze. He must have been more than six feet tall by the way he towered over her.
“The name’s Joshua Stafford, and all the land you can see for miles around belongs to my family. Why are you camped here?”
Rachel straightened to her full height, which barely brought her to the bottom of the cowboy’s slightly cleft chin. The man’s tanned chin was darkened by several days’ worth of stubble. She boldly met his gaze. Bluffing her way out of this mess would require showing the absence of fear.
“Do you have any proof of ownership? If so, I’d be obliged to see it.”
Instant surprise registered on the man’s handsome face.
Her gaze darted to the large boulder, ten feet away, where her Sharp’s carbine rifle had fallen when she’d set it down to wash up. A clump of tall weeds hid it from the man’s view. Looking straight at the cowboy again, she eased toward the weapon. “Maybe you’re just a squatter, and you want this nice camping spot for yourself.”
One dark eyebrow rose, and his cocky grin broadened at her challenge. A dimple creased his left cheek, giving him a charming, boyish look. When he smiled like that, his eyes all but disappeared in a squint under his thick, dark lashes. In spite of her nervousness, she couldn’t help admiring the man standing in front of her.
“You’ve got spunk. That’s good, kid. Might just keep you alive.” With hands resting on his holster, he stepped closer. “But I still don’t know your name or why you’re out here alone. C’mon, you can trust me. Let me help you.”
Rachel slowly moved to her right. Joshua Stafford seemed decent enough, but so had many of the men in Dodge City until she’d gotten to know them. Trust him? Only about as far as she would trust the hind end of a spooked skunk. She needed to draw him away from where her grandpa slept in the shadow of the cliff—and she needed her rifle.
“Tell me your name at least.”
“Lee. Lee Donovan.” He didn’t need to know Lee was her middle name, and she wanted to avoid lying. To protect her, Grandpa had stretched the truth a mite to some of the people they’d encountered, but she’d promised God and herself that she wouldn’t.
Joshua Stafford moved another step closer, touched the brim of his hat, and nodded. “Well, Lee Donovan, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” The warmth of his voice echoed in his wide smile. For a moment, Rachel wanted to trust him more than she’d ever put faith in anyone. But that could be dangerous. He stared intently at her for a few seconds, then his eyebrows slanted and his smile faltered.
“What’re you doing way out here on foot?” He waved his hand through the air. “You can’t be more than fourteen or so.”
Fourteen. Rachel schooled her features to keep from smiling. Wouldn’t he be surprised to find out she was a twenty-year-old woman?
“This is dangerous territory. Where’s your horse? And where are your folks? A boy your age has no business out in this wild country alone.” He yanked off his sweat-stained hat and smacked it against his thigh.
Rachel took advantage of his chatter to edge closer to her goal. A few more steps and she’d be within reach of her Sharp’s. A blur of movement snagged her attention. She’d taken her eyes off the handsome cowboy a moment too long.
Quick strides of his long-legged gait brought him dangerously close. Rachel lunged to her right. The cowboy slammed his hat to the ground and reached for her arm, snagging her sleeve. Rachel jerked and twisted loose from his grasp and dove toward her weapon. She landed on the hard ground with a thud. Pain radiated through her head and chest. She secured her tilting hat with one hand while the other stretched toward the rifle. Please, God, I almost have it. She dug her toes in the dirt and inched her body forward. Her fingertips brushed the cool metal of the gun barrel just as the cowboy grabbed her ankles.
“Oh, no you don’t.”
Rachel desperately clawed the ground for a fingerhold as the man pulled her by the ankles through the dirt.
“Let me go!” Like a fish out of water, she flopped and twisted, fighting against his firm hold. She felt her feet slipping loose from Papa’s oversized boots. Please help me, God, her mind screamed. One more hard jerk and her feet slid free. With empty boots suddenly in hand, the stranger stumbled backward. Rachel jumped up, pressing her hat back down, and grabbed her rifle.
She heard her boots hit the ground behind her. “Stop it,” the man roared. “You fool kid. I’m not going to hurt you.”
Ignoring him, Rachel cocked the carbine and pivoted to face Joshua Stafford—if that was his real name. Once again she stared down the barrel of his revolver. Without taking her eyes off him, she spat out the dirt that coated her tongue and teeth. Her wrist and side ached; her pulse throbbed in her ears. She wondered if Joshua Stafford had any idea how deep her fear ran. If only she could trust him. But how could she trust a stranger holding a gun on her?
“Well, kid, look’s like we’ve got us a Mexican standoff.”
His cocky grin returned.